


Murder at the Cycling Club

by Hot_elf



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf
Summary: Jack has to go undercover in a cycling race, when a series of mysterious deaths occur at the Coburg Cyling Club. Of course Phryne is more than willing to help him solve the case. Set after season 3 and Phryne's return from England. Reposting since the work was accidentally deleted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aljohnson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/gifts).



His left knee hurt like hell. A faint trickle of blood was running down his shin, and he was parched. His water bottle had spilled most of its contents on the ground when he'd fallen, and he'd long since finished the few remaining drops. Cursing under his breath, Jack Robinson limped along the dusty road, dragging his bicycle along with him as best he could.

He still had several miles to walk until he reached his own house, and he had no idea how he was going to manage. The club house would have been much closer, but he really didn't want to go back there. It would be too embarrassing to face the other club members, all of them seasoned cycle racers, who would have laughed off a minor accident such as this and gotten back in the saddle straight away. Heck, a seasoned racer wouldn't have gotten himself into such a mess in the first place. Jack could just imagine the looks he'd get if he told his story. There was no way he was going to face that kind of humiliation.

No, he had to make it home. As soon as he got there, he would see to his injuries, and then have a go at fixing his bike. Jack flinched at the squealing noise it made when he tried to push it a little faster. Maybe he'd ask Cec and Bert to have a look at it. Only, that would mean he'd have to explain the whole setup to them and-

The noise of a car slowing down right behind him made him freeze in his tracks. No. It couldn't be… That would be too much of a coincidence.

But sure enough, a familiar voice rang out from the cab. "Told you it was him."

"Blimey, Bert, you were right. Our very own Detective Inspector." Yes, that was definitely Cec.

The red-raggers, both of them. Had he summoned them with his thoughts? Sighing wearily, Jack turned to face them, only just remembering to remove his fake moustache before he did so.

"'Course it's him. I'd recognize that tushie anywhere." The stuttering noise of the engine dying down allowed Jack to pretend he hadn't heard Bert's muttered words.

"Gentlemen." He inclined his head in greeting. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I could say the same." Bert was grinning all over as he took in Jack's predicament. "Can we offer you a lift? We were on our way to Miss Fisher's place anyway, weren't we, Cec?"

Cec just nodded, though he didn't bother to hide his smirk.

With another heartfelt sigh, Jack nodded and climbed into the cab while Bert secured his bike. It was a relief to stretch out his legs. He didn't look forward to explaining the whole business to Phryne, though.

* * *

"So let me get this right." Phryne Fisher fixed her favourite detective inspector with her strictest look while she dabbed at his bleeding knee with an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze, using slightly more force than necessary. _What has he gotten himself into this time?_ "You had an accident because?"

"There was a chicken. In the road." Jack avoided her gaze. "I… I was going at a considerable speed, and when I saw it I swerved, and the ground was sandy, so-"

"A chicken." Phryne had a hard time keeping her serious demeanour. "You nearly got yourself killed in order to save a chicken."

"Well, I could hardly just run the poor chook over." Jack looked legitimately upset at her suggestion.

"Of course you couldn't. But why on Earth were you out in the streets on a _bicycle_ …" Her voice lingered disapprovingly on the last word. "… at this ungodly hour?" Gathering her silk peignoir around her bare shoulders with her free hand, she shivered slightly.

"It's nearly nine o'clock, Phryne." Jack winced when she found yet another sore spot. "And, I already told you. I'm training for the Warrny."

"The what?" Phryne felt her lips set in a thin line.

"The Melbourne to Warrnambool Classic. It's a cycling race," he elaborated.

"I knew that." She shot him another glare. It was a blatant lie, of course. Phryne had never been interested in bicycles. Cars were so much more exciting. "But why would you wish to take part in it?"

"It's complicated." When he hesitated, she motioned for him to go on, at the same time reaching for a bandage. "There've been three fatal casualties at the Coburg Cycling Club over the course of the past five months. A heart attack. A tram accident. A mechanic who fell down the stairs. All three were ruled accidental, but-"

"You think it's a bit too much to be a coincidence. I agree." Phryne nodded eagerly. "So you decided to investigate."

"The colleagues from Fawkner Station asked me to look into it for them, seeing as I'm an unfamiliar face." He flinched again when she tightened the bandage around his knee. "The racers are a close-knit bunch. They're far more likely to spill the truth to one of their own than to a policeman. And since I took part in a few minor races before the war, they felt I could act the part convincingly. Only it seems…" He took a deep breath. "I'm a little out of shape."

"Oh, I don't know." Phryne ran her hand lightly up his well-muscled thigh. "You look in fine shape to me, Jack Robinson. And you're certainly dressed for the part." Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Goodness, Jack, those shorts are… short. And tight. Not that I have any objections, mind you."

Jack inhaled sharply. "Right. Thank you very much. I believe I need to get changed now. And then I have to get to the station and write my report."

"Nonsense." Phryne couldn't believe her ears. "You're injured. Mr Butler can call Hugh and tell him you're not coming in today. You need to rest." She fluttered her eyelids at him. "And I'll gladly take care of you, while you recover."

"It's just a scratch." He shook his head, trying to look sober and determined. But wasn't there a smile tugging at the corner of his expressive mouth? And he really looked mouth-wateringly delicious in his cycling gear.

"But, Jack…" A particular creative manoeuvre of her hand on his thigh made him groan and go taut. "I really don't think it would be appropriate for you to go to the station like _this_." Delicately, she indicated the sizable bulge in his shorts.

"You're impossible!" Jack glared at her, but he could hardly deny the truth of her claim. For a moment, he seemed torn between anger and amusement, but then the latter won out. "So… What do you suggest we do about it, Miss Fisher?" His voice had dropped at least an octave, to a deep, sensuous purr that did interesting things to Phryne's insides.

"Well…" Her hand wandered further up, tracing the seams of the shorts. "We should probably get you out of these, first. You can't possibly be comfortable."

And that was nothing but the truth, wasn't it? The way he was straining against the thin fabric looked almost painful. Phryne couldn't take her eyes off him. Not that she particularly wanted to.

Jack moaned, deep in his throat. "Phryne…" His hand was cupping her cheek, gently, despite the growing tension in his body, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that made her heart ache.

He didn't spell it out, but then he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he wanted from her.

* * *

The noise of his own blood thrumming in his ears was deafening. How had this happened, how had she managed to get him to this point in such a short time _again_? Jack was helpless, paralysed with want, unable to take his eyes off her.

And Phryne just _smiled_ , damn her, as serenely as if she was hosting a tea party, while she was slowly peeling his shorts off, freeing his cock inch by inch from the constraining material. He shivered when his heated flesh met cool air, but he didn't even have time to get used to the sensation before her lips closed around him and he had to close his eyes. _So good, so hot, so sweet!_

Her soft laugh pulled him back into the present. When he opened his eyes, she was _looking_ at him, damn it, meeting his gaze without a trace of shame or embarrassment, even though her lovely lips were wrapped around him. And Jack was torn, torn so badly. Some part of him wanted to close his eyes again, to preserve a last shred of sanity, but at the same time he wanted to see this, wanted to commit every tiny detail to memory, so he could take it out and examine it at leisure when they were apart.

Phryne sighed, a happy sigh of sheer enjoyment, and then she hollowed her cheeks and _sucked_ , and the world went away for a moment. "God, Phryne."

He'd only ever had a woman's mouth on him once before he’d met Phryne. It had been during the war, when the loneliness and the horrors of the war had become too much to bear, and he had finally given in to the temptation and visited a _maison tolérée_. The girl had offered to perform that particular service, and it had seemed less of a betrayal than actually sleeping with her.

He'd ended up enjoying it far too much, though, and his feelings of guilt and shame had haunted him for months. And while he'd found himself occasionally hankering for more of the same, it would never have occurred to him to ask Rosie for such a thing. The first time Phryne had done it, unasked, and with an expression of sincere enjoyment on her face, he'd nearly fainted.

He was a little more used to it by now, but he still felt his arousal grow far too quickly, and he knew he had to stop her. Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulled her up into his lap for a kiss, moaning when he tasted himself on her tongue.

"Awww." She pouted adorably when he let go of her lips. "I was just starting to enjoy myself. Are you sure you don't want me to continue?"

It took an effort, but he firmly shook his head. "No."

Her peach-coloured negligee was half transparent, as usual, but he wanted to see all of her, to touch her skin, so he made short work of the ribbons holding it in place. When the delicate fabric parted to reveal her breasts, he took a deep, stuttering breath. She was so gorgeous, so perfect, and he wanted her with an urgency that frightened him.

"Phryne…" She must have heard the change in his voice, because her expression softened, and the tenderness in her eyes nearly made his heart stop.

"Shhh, Jack." Gently, she ruffled his hair, then pulled his head toward her left breast.

And he didn't have to be asked twice. Hungrily, he caught her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently before he swirled his tongue around it to soothe the sting. Phryne cried out, arching into his mouth with a breathless whimper. He felt a fierce surge of pride at this. He could do this to her, he, Jack Robinson, could make her shiver and moan and beg. His hands settled on her strong thighs, arranging her so she was straddling him, and then his fingers found her heat and once again, she felt so _good_. She was wet for him, wet and hot, and suddenly he couldn't wait any longer.

"Please. Now." Placing both hands on her hips, he lifted her a little, and Phryne laughed in sheer joy as he lowered her down on his cock, struggling to keep it slow when all he wanted was to be surrounded by her warmth, finally, just where he belonged, just where he needed to be.

"Jack. Gods, yes." Her voice was rough and throaty, and when he was fully settled inside her, her head sank back, exposing the long line of her perfect white throat. _So beautiful._

The pain in his knee was just a distant memory, and all other sensations paled to nothing when she started to move: the taste of her skin under his lips; the scent of her perfume; the rustling of her silky gown. There was just Phryne, Phryne and the slow undulating movement of her hips that drove him utterly and completely crazy.

He didn't know how long they remained like this, he'd lost all track of space and time, but at some point, he simply couldn't bear it any longer, and thrust up hard beneath her, breaking her rhythm. And then he could no longer stop himself and did it again, and again, holding on tightly to her hips, leaving her no room to wiggle away.

Phryne made no attempt to stop him, just clung to him tightly, hiding her face against his shoulders, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps. And just as he thought he couldn't go on any longer, couldn't take it anymore, she cried out, clenching hard around him, and he let go. They came together, trembling and panting, their bodies sticky with sweat, their remaining clothes rumpled beyond repair.

"Jack…" Phryne’s voice sounded small and weak as she shifted in his lap. "Oh, my. That was…"

She didn't finish the sentence, and he decided to take that as a compliment. After all, few men could boast of having left Phryne Fisher speechless. Not that he himself was feeling particularly articulate now. Making a small, affirmative noise, he held her in his arms, held her until they both had calmed down a little.

"You need a bath. And so do I." Phryne’s tone brooked no contradiction. "Come on. I'll help you with the bandage."

Later, when they'd settled down for a very late breakfast, she gave him a speculative look over the rim of her teacup. "So… Are you still determined to go through with the cycling race?"

"If I can get my bike repaired and my knee heals in time." He took a deep sip of his own tea. "I've no idea what's going on at the club yet, but I'm sure it's something fishy."

"Hmmm." Phryne sounded thoughtful. "I believe my friend Edith's younger brother is a member, too. Maybe I can have a chat with him."

"It can't hurt." He shrugged. "They don't allow women as club members, I'm afraid."

"Of course they don't." Phryne’s eyes narrowed. "Luckily for them, this is not a hill I'm prepared to die on. But…" Her face lit up in a sudden smile. "When did you say the race was?"

"I didn't say," he replied dryly. "In October. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I could come along to cheer you on!" Her smile widened and became altogether too innocent. "Provided you won't find my presence too distracting, of course."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, for-" Jack fought back the urge to curse when he found he couldn't reach the stack of papers on his desk without lifting his leg from its comfortable resting place, stretched out on a small side table.

The knee was still giving him trouble, though the scrapes had healed nicely. But he really needed to get back to training if he didn't want to blow his cover. The race was only six weeks from now, and if he didn't put in some effort, there was no way he would make it across the finish line before cut-off time. A distance of 165 miles was nothing to sneeze at, after all.

Before he'd managed to extricate himself from his position, the door flew open and Phryne swanned in, smiling brightly. When she noticed his predicament, she handed him the papers with a dramatic flourish.

"Were you looking for these, Jack, dear?" She was positively purring. "You know, I was wondering if I could have a look at your notes on the Cycling Club case?"

He hesitated only for a moment. Sure, this was highly irregular, but experience had taught him that Phryne was bound to spot details that even his experienced eye had overlooked. And even if she didn't, it would be helpful to discuss the case with her.

With a sigh, he dug the thick manila folder out from the pile to his left. "Here you go. There's a summary on the first page."

Phryne hummed happily to herself while she quickly scanned the file. "Let me see… First victim, a Mr Sidney O'Connell, also known as 'Speedy Sid'. Died from a heart attack in the club's smoking room." She frowned. "Even I have heard of Speedy Sid. Wasn't he a cycling legend?"

"You could say that." Jack nodded. "He held several long distance records in his time. And he was known for never giving up. There was this one time when he won a race despite suffering three punctures and a broken ankle. The younger members worshipped him like a hero.”

"Uh-huh." Phryne was clearly unimpressed. "Second victim. Sheila Wendells, the club's charwoman. Run over by a tram at the end of her shift. Ugh. What a nasty way to go."

"She used to take the train at Batman Station, just around the corner from the club's premises." Jack sighed. "It was a foggy night, and no one saw it happen."

"What a pity." Phryne glanced down at the file again. "Third victim. Robbie MacPherson, mechanic. Died after an accidental fall when he slipped in a puddle of oil on the stairs. He broke his neck, I take it?"

"His neck and several other appendages," Jack confirmed. "Poor kid. He had only just turned twenty."

Phryne shook her head. "A puddle of oil on the stairs that he just failed to notice? Honestly? That doesn't sound particularly plausible to me."

Jack shrugged. "The coroner could find no evidence of foul play at the time. Maybe he really just slipped and fell."

"Hmm. There's an awful lot of falling going on, don't you think?" Phryne didn't look convinced. "Any connection between the three? A possible motive?"

"Apart from the fact that they were all connected to the club, nothing so far. We’ve done a thorough background search on all three of them as well as on the club regulars, but so far we've come up empty. No dark secrets, no prior convictions, no possible motives.” Jack glared at his knee. "I hope I'll be well enough to go back in a few days. Maybe I'll be able to find out more then."

"I'm sure you will," Phryne agreed blithely. "And in the meantime, I'll be having tea at Aunt Prudence's house this afternoon. She kindly agreed to invite Edith and her brother Randall, so hopefully I'll have a chance to get the inside scoop on the club members."

"Would that be Randall Bassington?" Jack frowned. "I think I've met him once or twice at the club."

"Bassington-Smythe," Phryne corrected him. "Yes. Aunt P has known the family for ages. Edith is a bit of a bore, but I can put up with her for the sake of our case." She sighed deeply, every inch the long-suffering martyr.

"Your sacrifice is very much appreciated." _Our case_. Jack felt his lips twitch. "Will I see you tonight?"

"If you want. Mr Butler mentioned something about steak pie for dinner. How does that sound?" Phryne's smile was bordering on smug. She clearly didn't expect him to say no, and for a moment Jack was tempted to decline, just because.

Just for a moment, though. "How could I possibly resist." He smiled back. "I'll try to be there at eight."

"I shall be looking forward to it." And there it was, a flash of unexpected sincerity in her smile that made his throat contract almost painfully. She meant it. And that made all the difference.

"Me, too." His heart beat faster. "Very much so."

* * *

Phryne was happy to run into Hugh in the anteroom on her way out. "Hugh, my dearest! How is Dottie doing?"

"She is fine, Miss Fisher. The morning sickness is getting better. Oh, and I've been meaning to ask you a favour – if it's not too much of an imposition, that is?" Hugh looked adorably flustered, as usual.

"Nonsense, Hugh. What's the matter?" Phryne carefully adjusted her hat and checked her lipstick with the help of a small pocket mirror.

"Well, I have a late shift on Wednesday, and Dottie gets lonely in the evenings, and she mentioned that she was worried that the new maid is not doing a good job of mending your stockings, so I wondered if-"

"Of course she can come over! I'll gladly keep her company." Phryne couldn't have been happier about his question. "But I won't hear of her doing any mending."

"I don't know, miss. She might actually be happier if she has something to do." Hugh smiled. "You know my Dottie."

"I do indeed." Phryne considered for a moment. "All right. But I will pay her for it. Yes, I will." She brushed aside his protests. "Dot is nothing short of a miracle worker where torn stockings are concerned, and a talent like hers deserves its just reward. You can set the money aside for the baby, if you wish."

“Yes, Miss Fisher.” Hugh had clearly decided that this was a fight he couldn't win. Which was true enough.

“Lovely.” Phryne rewarded him with her most ravishing smile. “I'll send Cec and Bert over to pick her up at seven. And, Hugh…”

He nervously adjusted his collar. “Yes, miss?”

“Just a word of warning.” She lowered her voice, pointing her thumb toward the closed door to Jack’s office. “He won't admit it, but I think he's in pain, and it makes him cranky. You'd better be on your toes, constable. Obviously, I'll do my best to cheer him up tonight, but..."

Hugh blushed furiously. “Right. Yes. Thanks for the heads-up, Miss Fisher.”

“My pleasure.” Another smile, and she was on her way out. _Darling Hugh._ He was in for a trying day.

* * *

"Phryne. There you are, finally. Edith has been waiting for your arrival _most_ impatiently." Aunt Prudence helped Phryne out of her fur stole, accepting her greeting with a disdainful sniffle.

"Good afternoon, Aunt P." Phryne smiled brightly. "Is Randy here, too?" she mouthed at her aunt.

Aunt Prudence nodded, her voice dropping to a whisper. "As you requested. I had to lure him here with the promise of my special tuna sandwiches. He used to be so fond of them as a boy."

_And no doubt he's well-bred enough to know that he had to make an appearance when you insinuated that you'd made them expressly for him. Well played_. Phryne followed her aunt to the parlour, where a generous tea table was set for the four of them.

Edith embraced Phryne with a happy sigh. "Phryne, darling. I've missed our little chats so much. It's a shame you're always so busy."

"Ah, my dear, you know how it is." Phryne hugged her back. Edith _was_ one of her oldest friends in Melbourne, and it wasn't her fault that she was a bit bland. Rather unfortunately plain-looking, too, and she really needed some advice on how to dress.

Randall got to his feet as well, greeting her with an immaculate bow. "Phryne Fisher. How is it possible that you have become even more beautiful since we last met?"

"I sincerely doubt that." Phryne graciously allowed him to kiss her hand. "If I remember correctly, you were still at school then. And you have certainly grown up in the meantime." She let her gaze wander appreciatively over his whole body.

_Grown up_ was an understatement. The Randall she remembered had been a lanky, narrow-chested boy with acne and a slight stutter. The man before her now was tall and muscular, charming and self-assured. He was very well-dressed, too, and he smelled of an expensive _cologne_. _French, if I'm not very much mistaken_. Phryne appreciated a man taking good care of his appearance.

Randall cleared his throat, a hint of the old bashfulness surfacing behind the confident veneer. "Yeah, well, it's been a long time. And I do like to keep in shape."

"Are you a sportsman then?" It was a perfect opening, Phryne realized. A lovely, innocuous way to lead up to her intended topic of conversation.

"I'm a member of the Coburg Cycling Club." He sounded proud. "Last year I came in third in one of their endurance races."

_Which would explain those amazing thighs._ Phryne raised a flirty eyebrow at him. "Congratulations. That sounds like quite an achievement. I take it that the other club members are no slouches either?"

"No, they aren't." He grinned, clearly flattered. "We have a number of cycling celebrities among our ranks. Henry – he's our club president – he is very invested in providing optimal training facilities to attract the top racers."

"Henry who?" Phryne did her best to sound casual. "Do I know him? He sounds fascinating."

"Henry Edgcombe." Randall took another sip of tea. "No, I don't expect you've met him. He must be at least fifty. Very staid, very respectable. He's not actively racing any more, you know. But you might have run across his wife, Mathilda."

"She's a real beauty, Phryne," Edith piped up. "Always featured on the society pages, very elegant and refined."

"I remember when they got married." Aunt Prudence tutted disapprovingly. "She used to be Mathilda Harris, one of the East Malvern Harrises, you know, Phryne? A lovely girl indeed, but she did seem a bit flighty to me. I wonder what she saw in Henry Edgcombe."

Phryne had to hide a smile. It didn't take much to be labelled as 'flighty' by Aunt P. "So, they haven't been married for long?"

"Two or three years, I believe." Edith reached for another scone. "They are an unlikely couple, I agree, but she seems very loving toward her husband."

Randall cleared his throat. "It can't be easy for her. Henry can be a bit-" He broke off. "Well, there's no point in speculating, is there? Would you like to come and see a race some time, Phryne?"

"I just might consider it, now that I know you'll be taking part." She threw him one of her patented smoky-eyed looks. "It sounds hugely exciting."

* * *

Jack leaned back in his chair, gratefully patting his stomach. As usual, the meal had been delicious: the pastry light and flaky, baked a perfect golden brown, and the gravy dark and rich and scrumptious, with just the barest hint of ale added, to complement the taste of the tender beef and the mushrooms. Jack appreciated a warm, solid meal as much as the next man, and he'd probably had a little more of the steak pie than he should have. Fortunately, Phryne could be relied on to provide a strong drink after the meal.

Phryne was smiling indulgently at him over the rim of her whisky glass. "Well? Are you ready to move on to business?"

"It seems a waste of a wonderful evening." He sighed. "But yes, of course. Did you find out anything interesting at your tea party?"

Phryne shrugged. "Hard to say. I did hear a lot of gossip, mainly about the club president and his pretty young wife."

"Henry Edgcombe." Jack frowned. "I don't know, Phryne. I've talked to him several times, and the club is his home, his family, his life. Suspicious incidents there are hardly in his best interest. I really can't imagine him involved in any kind of foul play."

"The club is his life." Phryne raised an irritated eyebrow. "That seems a strange thing to say about a man who has a beautiful young wife. One would think-"

"Maybe the marriage hasn't worked out as planned." Jack felt a touch of irritation. He really couldn't see how Edgcombe's family life was playing into this. Still, it wouldn't do to discard the possibility completely. "It happens."

"It certainly does." Phryne's tone was light, and he was relieved, when she didn't pursue the subject further.

"Anything else you've learned from your friend Randall?" He loosened his tie. "Any other leads?"

"Not really." Phryne sighed, but a slight smile was playing around her lips. "Randy was _very_ charming, though. I might see him again, if things go according to plan. Who knows, maybe I can find out more, if I can keep him interested."

Jack was totally unprepared for the hot flash of jealousy that went through him at her words. He'd been so sure they'd moved past this. Phryne was an incurable flirt, as he well knew, but for the past few months, she hadn't really shown any interest in anyone but him. And while she'd never made him any promises, he'd assumed- _And there's no reason to assume differently now_ , he firmly told himself. _Just because she's noticed Bassington's charms and is taking advantage of his interest in her, doesn't mean she's going to add him to her list of lovers._

"It's getting late." Phryne reached out to take his hand. "Will you stay the night?"

Should he? Jack hesitated. He wanted to, of course he did. Holding Phryne in his arms was what he'd dreamed of all day. And yet, wouldn't it be better to leave? If she really had another man on her mind… Jack just barely suppressed a sigh. For a moment, just for a moment, he wished things were a little more clear-cut between the two of them. Just a little simpler and easier. But then again, nothing worthwhile was ever easy, right?

"If you'd like me to." He returned the pressure of her long fingers, relieved when she nodded and smiled. "Shall we go to bed, then?"


	3. Chapter 3

Phryne woke when the first rays of sun tickled her nose. Stretching and yawning luxuriantly, she took a moment to indulge in the memories of last night. Jack had been in a weird mood, something halfway between aggressive and affectionate, and it had lent an interesting edge to their lovemaking. A pleasant tingle spread in her lower belly at the thought. _Very interesting indeed_.

Not that she was in any way bored by Jack's attentions. True, some of her other lovers had been more sophisticated, more adventurous than Jack Robinson. But he more than made up for it in intensity. Phryne had always suspected that there was a huge amount of pent-up passion underneath his controlled exterior, and when they'd finally made love, she hadn't been disappointed. Besides, he'd appreciated the new tricks she'd introduced him to so far, and he'd been quick to put them to good use. No, she wasn't bored. Not even the slightest bit.

Still yawning, she rang for Sarah, her new maid. The girl arrived promptly, and set to her duties with satisfying swiftness and a refreshing absence of idle chatter. She was no Dot, to be sure, but so far Phryne liked her well enough. While her bath was running, Phryne sipped her morning tea and nibbled on a homemade ginger biscuit.

Her mind drifted back to the case. So far, she was a bit disappointed with what she had dug up. Phryne had rather hoped for more juicy rumours, an overheard argument, maybe, or a lurid tale of rivalry among competing racers. But for all his charm and eloquence, Randall hadn't really been the best source of information. Fortunately, there were other avenues of investigation still open to her.

"What do you think, Sarah?" Dipping her toe in the water, she nodded approvingly. Just the right temperature. "If you were a poor woman who had just lost your only sister, would you be willing to talk to a glamorous lady detective?"

"Probably not, miss." Sarah smiled nervously. "I'd be too scared of having to pay her eventually. And also…" She fell silent, blushing a little.

"What else?" Phryne gave her an encouraging nod.

"Well, I'd think… No offense, miss, but a poor woman would probably think that you wouldn't understand her troubles anyway. What with you being rich and all."

"Very true." Phryne sank into the bath with a sigh of bliss. "Which means that this investigation calls for an appropriate disguise, don't you think?"

Three hours later, she was making her way through the maze of alleyways in one of the decidedly less fashionable parts of town. Much as she had expected, no one at the club house had had time to return Sheila Wendell's personal effects to her sister yet. The harassed-looking middle-aged woman who had taken over Sheila's cleaning duties had happily agreed to hand the small parcel over to Phryne in exchange for a promise to deliver them promptly. Which she had every intention of doing.

Finally, she found the right door, at the back of a large run-down tenement building. The staircase smelled strongly of pea soup and the linoleum on the stairs was worn down in patches. Everything seemed to be covered in a thin layer of grime, which made Phryne doubly glad she had dressed in plain working garb for her visit. Her calico dress and the kerchief she'd tied around her hair were almost as shabby and threadbare as her surroundings, though she'd taken care to put on a clean apron. She wanted to look poor, not slatternly.

When she knocked on the door, it took a while until she could make herself heard above the din inside. The woman who opened looked pale and exhausted, and Phryne couldn't blame her. A veritable horde of children seemed to have been squeezed into the tiny apartment, and four or five of them were arguing at the top of their voices about who should get to play with the only doll.

"I'm looking for Mrs Helen Kelly – would that be you?" Phryne put on her best working class accent.

The woman nodded wearily.

"Rosie Parks." Phryne was glad for the dim light, which would hide any inconsistencies in her get-up. "I work at the Cycling Club. They asked me to bring you this." She dropped the parcel into the woman's hands. "Your sister's things."

"Poor Sheila." Mrs Kelly sounded beyond weary. "It's kind of you to come. Would you like a cuppa?"

"I don't mind if I do. If I can trouble you for it." Phryne glanced around the miserable dwelling.

"Come on in then." The woman motioned for her to follow her into the kitchen. "Sorry about the mess. With Sheila's four on top of mine, we're too crowded. But what can you do, eh?"

"You've taken in her babies then?" Phryne nodded approvingly. "You're a good soul, Mrs Kelly."

"Well, she was my only sister, wasn't she?" The woman sighed as she poured hot water into a tea pot. "Sheila never had it easy, and when her man died, things got worse. People said she was neglecting the little ones, but she didn't have a choice. She had to work for a living, didn't she?"

Phryne accepted the steaming hot mug of tea with a nod of thanks. "Don't we all?"

"Were you her friend, then?" Helen Kelly poured herself a mug as well.

"Nah, just worked with her." Phryne took a careful sip. The tea was strong and surprisingly good. "She was a hard worker, Sheila was. A shame what happened to her."

"Very true." Digging a kerchief from the pocket of her apron, Mrs Kelly noisily blew her nose. "Doesn't bear thinking about."

"It's weird, though, isn't it?" Phryne felt bad for bringing up the topic in the face of the poor woman's grief, but if she wanted to get behind this, she couldn't afford any scruples. "Why would she just stumble and…"

"That's what I said, too!" Wiping away her tears with an angry gesture, Helen Kelly raised her head to glare at her. "No one just falls in front of a train. And our Sheila was always so careful."

"You think someone pushed her!" Phryne made her eyes go wide with amazement. "Really?"

"I didn't say that! Who would do such a thing? It's weird, is all I'm saying." Mrs Kelly shook her head. "Everyone liked Sheila. Can't think why anyone would wish to harm her. Can you?"

"No." Phryne thoughtfully chewed her lower lip. "Will you be all right?" she asked, flinching internally at her own abruptness. "Taking care of the kids, I mean?"

"We will manage." Helen Kelly rose to her feet, accepting the empty mug back with a sad smile. "I'll light an extra candle for the Virgin Mary on Sunday. Maybe she will help us."

"You're a Catholic then?" Phryne took care not to sound judgmental. Living with Dot had taught her plenty about how tricky the subject of religion could be.

"Like all my family before me." For all her poverty, the woman sounded proud. "We come from good Irish stock."

"Well, I need to be off." Phryne shook the woman's hand. "All the best to you, Mrs Kelly."

She was glad to leave the place behind her, relieved to return to her own comfortable life. But try as she might, she couldn't quite drive the woman's haggard and careworn expression from her mind. _There must be something I can do._

* * *

"Ah, you're back! Good to see you, Thomas." Henry Edgcombe beamed genially at Jack. "Haven't seen you in a while." One of his large hands landed heavily on Jack's shoulder.

"I was busy at work. You know how it is." Jack just barely resisted the urge to rub at his upper lip. The fake moustache, part of his disguise as Tom Robbins, clerk at the registry office, was itching like hell. "But now I'm eager to get back into the swing of things. Actually, I got myself a new bike. Theo was kind enough to recommend a new model."

"Yes, yes, he knows his stuff all right." Edgcombe made a dismissive gesture. "Not too bright, though, not like our Robbie was. _He_ had ideas! Ah, such a waste to have him die so young."

"Robbie? You mean the other mechanic? The one who fell down the stairs?" Jack couldn't believe his luck. He'd wrecked his brain, trying to find a way to come up with the topic of Robbie's death, and here he was being handed his chance on a silver platter.

"Yes." Edgcombe's expression darkened briefly, before his usual perfunctory smile was back in place. "He was always trying to come up with new designs, you know. He had this idea for modifying the gear ratio that- Well, to tell the truth, I didn't rightly understand it myself. But old Mr O'Connell used to say the boy was a mechanical genius. Robbie could have made a fair bit of money with the patent, but now I guess no one will follow through with it. Theo is a good guy, but he's nowhere in the same league."

"So Robbie and Mr O'Connell got along well?" Jack did his best not to show any undue interest in that fact, though its implications had his heart beat faster. If Robbie had come up with some revolutionary new invention, and O'Connell had known about it…

"Oh, yes." Edgcombe chuckled softly. "They were always in cahoots about this or that. And now they're both gone. It's sad. But there you go. That's life."

Jack nodded, mumbling an appropriate platitude. His mind was racing. Had somebody killed both Robbie and O'Connell over a technical innovation? And if so, how could he learn more? He'd have to talk to Theo, find out if he really was as clueless as Edgcombe had claimed. If he was smart enough to have realized the importance of his colleague's ideas, who knew how far he'd have been ready to go?

It sounded plausible, and yet… Something didn't really fit together. If the same person had killed O'Connell and Robbie, then why had they used such wildly different means to get rid of their victim? Causing someone to have a heart attack, by whichever means, was a very different _modus operandi_ from pushing a person down a set of stairs. _Two murderers then, acting in collusion?_ Jack shook his head. It seemed too far-fetched to contemplate.

Maybe he'd see clearer after his chat with Theo. Sighing under his breath, he headed for the workshop.

* * *

"Dear Dot." Phryne looked her former companion over, humming with approval. Dot was positively glowing with health and happiness. "You look much better."

"I feel much better, miss." Dot sighed. "Though I swear, there were moments during the past few months when I seriously wondered why any sane woman would want to go through all of this more than once."

"Well, I hope you know you don't have to." Phryne looked at her sternly. "Not if you don't want to."

"I know, miss." Dot's smile was a little forced. "Though I'll probably be fine. My mom says I'll forget about it all, once I have the babe in my arms."

"Maybe you will." Phryne shrugged. "But just in case you don't, I'm sure Doctor Macmillan will be happy to give you a few tips. And I hope you won't hesitate to avail yourself of her help."

Dot blushed. "It's a good thing Father O'Leary can't hear you, miss. He'd be shocked if he knew-"

"Father O'Leary's opinion on such questions will become valid the moment he gets pregnant, but not before that, Dottie." Phryne shook her head. "What could a Catholic priest possibly know about pregnancy and childbirth?"

Dot cleared her throat. "How is the case coming along, miss?" She seemed eager to change the subject.

"Well, I went to see the dead woman's sister." Phryne quickly related the events of her afternoon.

"The poor woman!" Dot looked appalled. "Can't we do anything to help her? She must be at the end of her strength."

"I was thinking the same thing." Phryne sighed. "But it's not that easy. I can hardly just offer her money. She doesn't know who I really am, and besides, I bet she'd be too proud to accept it anyway."

"I believe you're right, miss." Dot nodded. "But there may be a way… She's Catholic, you say, miss? And living in Fitzroy? I'll find out who their parish priest is. If I talk to the right people, let them know how she's struggling… Just leave it all to me. Mrs Kelly will get the help she needs."

"Thank you, Dot." Phryne smiled at her former companion. She knew that if Dot set her mind to it, things were bound to improve for Mrs Kelly. "Of course, we're still at a dead end with the Cycling Club case."

"No promising leads at all?" Dot shook her head in irritation. "There must be something."

"Well, there is quite a bit of gossip about the club president and his wife." Phryne sighed. "Henry and Mathilda Edgecombe. But I don't think-"

"Ooooh, Mathilda Edgcombe! I remember the pictures of her wedding." Dot sighed dreamily. "Such gorgeous lacework on her dress. They said it was imported from Brittany."

"Who said?" Once again, Phryne had to marvel at Dot's prodigious memory for dressmaking details.

"I think it was an article in _Women's Choice_." Dot frowned, trying to recall it. "Or maybe the _Lady's Companion_. I can find out for you, if I go through my stack of magazines at home."

"Oh, please don't trouble yourself, Dot." Phryne felt an immediate flash of guilt. "I'm sure you have so much to prepare for the baby-"

"It's no trouble, miss. And I'm all set, don't worry." Dot was beaming at her, looking happier than she had all night long. "I'm sure a little sleuthing will do me good."


	4. Chapter 4

Jack had instinctively picked a table at the back of the restaurant, where they would have their backs to the wall, so to speak, and be less likely to be observed by prying eyes. It wasn't that his relationship with the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was much of a secret these days, but they both had no interest in flaunting it either. Besides, old habits died hard.

The tiny French restaurant was close enough to City South Station to make it convenient for a quick lunch date, even if it was a little above the pay grade of the average police officer. Which, on the bright side, meant they weren't likely to run into any of his colleagues here. Besides, the food was delicious.

By mutual consent, they avoided mentioning the case until they had both finished their _soupe du jour_. When the plates had been taken away and the coffee served, Jack sat back in his chair, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I had an interesting conversation with Henry Edgcombe yesterday."  He took a small sip from his cup. "The club president."

"Oh. Yes. Hold on for a moment." Ignoring his bemused expression, Phryne reached for her bag and started digging around in its voluminous depths. "I'm sure I had it somewhere… Now where- Ah, yes. Here it is. Look."

She handed him a copy of some magazine or other, opened at a spread of photographs. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, she huffed impatiently.

"Edgcombe's wedding. Women's Choice covered it in great detail." She pointed at the page.

"Yes, I can see that." He shrugged, failing to see the significance. "Anything in particular that strikes you about this?"

"Yes! No." Phryne sighed. "I don't know. Just… If you look at the bride and groom…"

Jack took a closer look at the picture of the happy couple emerging from the church into the warm sunlight. It was certainly true that Edgcombe looked more like Mathilda's father than her newly betrothed husband. And it was equally true that she was a stunning young woman, with long, silver blonde hair and a graceful figure. Her smile was bright enough to rival the sparkle of her diamond tiara, and Edgcombe appeared to be fairly bursting with pride.

Phryne was watching his reaction. "Rather a beauty and the beast scenario, don't you think?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Maybe. But it's not as if he was dragging her along by force. They look happy enough, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport!" Phryne sighed deeply. "You're right, of course. But, this isn't going anywhere! There must be something we are missing. Did _you_ happen to find out anything new, at least?"

"I think so, yes." He smiled at the small excited noise she made. "As I said, I had a nice long chat with our man Edgcombe yesterday. According to him, young Robbie and Sid O'Connell were thick as thieves. They used to talk shop together, frame designs and gear ratios and such. Robbie seems to have had a lot of promising ideas."

"Hmm." Phryne looked intrigued. "And who is going to profit from those ideas now?"

"Hard to say." Jack felt obliged not to get her hopes up too much. "Robbie had no family. He was an orphan, unmarried, no close friends. I talked to Theo, the other mechanic, and he certainly seems skilled enough to take advantage of Robbie's plans. Or, it could be Edgcombe himself. He claimed to be ignorant of technological matters, but that seems implausible, given his long association with cycle racing and the club. So, we do in fact have several suspects." He sighed. "Still, it's hard to see a reason for murder there."

"Who knows?" Phryne shrugged. "Men have killed for less."

"True." Jack nodded. "I feel obliged to point out, though, that it could have been a woman. It doesn't take much strength to push someone down a set of stairs."

"Equally true," Phryne agreed. "But, if we assume that the whole thing has something to do with advances in racing technology, then how does the charwoman come into it?"

"That, as they say, is the question. Or at least one of them." Jack rubbed his neck. "You didn't get anything useful from her sister?"

"Nothing at all." Phryne shook her head. "I could try and question her again in the light of what you have learned, but I doubt she would even understand what I was getting at. And really, I can't see Sheila Wendell sneaking off with plans for an improved racing bicycle."

"Neither can I." Jack huffed in exasperation. "We need more information. Maybe if we could have a look around the workshop… But with what I've got so far, I can't even get a search warrant approved."

"Well, there are ways around _that_ particular problem." Phryne smiled like a cat. "Leave it all to me, Jack, dear."

"Phryne!"  He did his best to look severe. "You know I can't condone-"

"Which is why I won't tell you about it." Phryne was singularly unperturbed by his objections. "I told you, just leave it all to me."

"It might be dangerous." He spoke softly, well aware that she didn't want to be reminded of the risks. "If anything happened to you…"

"Ah, Cec and Bert will look after me. Don't worry." Phryne's eyes were gleaming with excitement. "Well. I need to be on my way. There are some preparations I need to make for-"

Jack stopped her with a finger on her lips. "Don't tell me about it." He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to come by your place tomorrow morning, on the way to work? Just in case you should happen to have learned something interesting in the course of your… investigation?"

She nodded, but her mind was clearly occupied elsewhere already, scheming and plotting. _Oh, Phryne_. Jack felt a wry smile tugging at his lips. Just like her to put the case first. But then again, he mused, as he courteously held the door open for her while she charged through it, he really wouldn't want it any other way.  

* * *

The clubhouse was dark, save for the dim glow of a streetlight outside the window, and the small cone of her torch. Phryne moved with utmost stealth, careful to avoid creaking floorboards and squealing doors. Her black pantsuit and the silk scarf she had tied over her head rendered her nearly invisible, and as far as she could tell, the building was abandoned for the night, but one could never be careful enough. Really, she wasn't half as reckless as Jack made her out to be. She'd even asked Cec and Bert to come along as backup, just in case she should run into trouble. The two of them were waiting just outside the door, hidden in the shadows of the balcony they had climbed together.

Bert had watched with great interest while she had picked the lock on the flimsy screen door. "Had a lot of practice at this kind of thing, miss?" His wide grin had been just this side of insolent. "I bet there's a story or two you could tell."

She'd been too preoccupied to come up with a snappy comeback, and besides, he was entirely correct. Now, as for actually _telling_ him any of those stories, that was a different matter, obviously…

Phryne paused for a moment in the club's rather pompous common room, making a face at the sight of the heavy, overstuffed furniture. _That's what you get when you leave the interior decorating entirely to men._ The door at the back was labelled with a neatly engraved copperplate sign that proclaimed it to be the president's office. But, when she tried to turn the knob, it was locked.

_What now?_ Picking the lock would take up valuable time, but if Edgcombe was really behind the whole thing, it would make sense for him to lock up any evidence in his office. Or would it? Wouldn't it be safer for him to leave it in the workshop, so he could continue to claim ignorance? Maybe she should just head down there first.

Her mind made up, she headed for the staircase, feeling her way along in the dark. When she reached the top of the stairs, a small superstitious frisson ran down her spine. This was the spot. The precise spot where Robbie MacPherson must have met his murderer. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to take the first step downward, and it was that small second of hesitation that saved her.

She couldn't see him in the dark, but she heard him. A sharp intake of breath, right behind her, the faint shuffle of a heel on the carpeted floor. Instinctively she gripped the railing with both hands. Two strong hands settled on her back, and her breath was nearly knocked out of her as the man pushed her forward.

But Phryne had no intention of going down without a fight. Bracing herself against the railing, she kicked out hard, smiling grimly when the high heel of her shoe connected with her attacker's shin and drew a pained gasp from him. And then she _screamed_ , at the top of her lungs.

The man clearly hadn't expected any resistance, and when the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway announced Cec and Bert's imminent arrival, he shoved her aside and bolted down the stairs past her. Phryne's hands scrambled for purchase against the rough stone wall, but in vain. She landed on the floor in a graceless heap, crying out in pain and frustration.

"Miss!" And there was Bert, on his knees beside her, shining a light in her face and sounding unmistakably worried. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she spat out, shaking with anger. "Just get him."

"Right." Bert followed Cec down the stairs, but they returned almost immediately.

"Sorry, miss. He got away." Cec looked dejected. "We took a quick look around but couldn't see where he might 'ave gone off to."

"Could be anywhere." Bert shrugged. "That bugger knows his way about the place, and I don't fancy wandering around down there and giving him a chance to trip me up from behind."

Phryne swore in a most unladylike fashion. "Did you at least get a good look at him?"

Cec shook his head. "Too dark."

"Definitely a bloke. Youngish." Bert sounded grim. "And he dropped this."

He handed her an oily rag.

Phryne's eyes widened. "The workshop. Quick. That's where he's gone to." She hoisted herself to her feet. "Gentlemen. I'm going downstairs, now!"

Bert exchanged a resigned look with Cec. "Have it your way, miss. But let me go first, or the inspector will have my head."

When they arrived, the workshop was empty, but the back door was swinging on its hinges, making it obvious where the attacker had escaped to.

"Look, miss." Cec pointed at an oil-smudged workman's coat, thrown carelessly over a rack of bikes. "He must have taken it off before he bolted."

"Hmmm." Phryne picked the coat up and sniffed its collar thoughtfully. "Now, I wonder…" Rolling up the garment and tucking it under her arm, she fixed them both with her strictest glare. "Let's head home, gentlemen. I think our work here is done for tonight."

* * *

"Detective Inspector." Mr Butler looked as flustered as he ever would get. "I'm afraid Miss Fisher is still asleep. She had what she termed 'a wild night', I believe."

"It's alright, Mr Butler." Before Jack could even answer, Phryne's voice rang out from the top of the staircase. "I'm awake. You can send the inspector up."

"Very well, miss." Mr Butler stepped aside with a neat little bow, and Jack pushed past him with an apologetic smile.

Phryne was in her room, and from the looks of her, she had indeed just woken up. She had thrown on her favourite robe, the black Chinese one, but her usually immaculate hair was tousled from sleep, and her face a little puffy, without any trace of make-up. Jack would have bitten off his tongue before admitting it to her face, but this was the Phryne he liked best.

"Jack, darling!" Her smile was a tad too bright, and it immediately made him suspicious.

And when she stepped closer, placing her arms around his neck to breathe a kiss on his lips, his misgivings were confirmed as the smell of iodine hit his nose. Both her hands were wrapped in bandages.

"Damn it, Phryne!" Taking hold of her wrists, he made her take a step back so she had to look him in the eyes. "You're hurt. I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

She pouted, fluttering her eyelids at him. "It's nothing serious, just a few scrapes. I'm fine."

"What happened?" He had to force the words out between his teeth. "You were at the club last night, weren't you?"

"Calm down, Jack." Phryne sniffed daintily, freeing her arms from his grasp with a quick twist of her wrists. "Cec and Bert were there with me. And, as I just said, I am perfectly fine."

" _What_ _happened_?" He was actually trembling a little, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Someone tried to push me down the stairs." Phryne was speaking quickly, as if she was trying to sneak the words past him. "But, as I told you-"

It was too much. Something snapped inside him. Grabbing her by the neck, Jack pulled her close and kissed her, far more forcefully than he ever had. He didn't hear her out, didn't stop to think, just silenced her with his mouth, unable to take any more excuses. Some part of him was appalled at his own behaviour, but he simply couldn't stop himself. He had spent the whole night alternately aroused from dreaming of her and worried about what she was up to, and now both these urges were demanding an outlet.

And Phryne was only too willing to grant it, it seemed. Moaning into his mouth, she dug her long nails deep into his shoulders. It hurt, but Jack welcomed the pain, welcomed the way it stoked his anger. Without letting go of her mouth, he pressed her hard against the wall, fumbling with the belt of her gown.

Phryne _whimpered_ , helping him untie the loop, and then his hands found bare skin and he lost all remaining reason. Dimly, he was aware that he was pushing his thigh between hers to force them apart, a move that made Phryne arch up in pleasure, rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. Vaguely, he noticed that she was unbuttoning his shirt, trying to get her hands on him in turn.

But nothing seemed to be able to penetrate the white haze that had settled on his mind. It took a sharp knock on the door behind them to drive them apart.

"Miss Fisher?" Mr Butler coughed discreetly. "I'm very sorry to intrude, but Constable Collins is on the phone, asking to speak with the inspector. He says it's urgent."

His words acted like a bucket of icy water. Gasping hard, Jack let go of Phryne and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "Thank you, Mr Butler. Tell the constable I will call him back in a minute."

"Very well, sir." Mr Butler's tone was perfectly neutral, and only moments later they heard his retreating footsteps.

Still panting, Jack hurried to get his clothes back in order while Phryne remained at the door, making no move to cover herself up as she watched him from under her long lashes. He glared at her, but she seemed rather amused by his reaction, and it took all his control to rein in his anger.

When he tried to step past her, she put a calming hand on his sleeve. "Jack. Can you meet me at the Cycling Club at four o'clock this afternoon? I think I might be able to solve the case for you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on his arm. "Just trust me. Please. Wear your disguise. And you might want to bring Hugh along, and hide him somewhere in the background."

"How are you going to get in?" His own voice sounded hoarse to him, and he still felt flushed and uncomfortable.

"I asked Randy to give me a tour." Phryne smiled serenely. "Apparently, women _are_ allowed in as guests, in the company of a club member. And he kindly agreed to show me around."

Being reminded of her acquaintance with Randall Bassington at this point did nothing whatsoever for Jack's peace of mind, but he forced himself to keep focussed. This was neither the time nor the place for a lovers' spat.

"All right." He nodded tersely at her. "I shall be there."


	5. Chapter 5

Jack was in the club's common room, as she had requested, and right on time, too. Phryne hardly recognized him with that silly little moustache he'd stuck to his upper lip, but she managed to keep a straight face as she greeted him effusively. "Tom! I didn't expect to see you here." She glanced up at Randall Bassington, whose arm she was clutching tightly. "You know my dear friend Tom, I presume?"

"Yes, yes, I believe we've met." Randall inclined his head in greeting. "Robbins, isn't it? I wasn't aware that you knew Phryne."

"I do indeed." Jack nodded politely back.

The two men exchanged a few comments about the weather before Jack excused himself and wandered over to the bar to pour himself a drink, leaving them alone in a quiet corner of the room. Randall seemed quiet and preoccupied, almost absent-minded.

"I just adore the club, Randy. Such a charming place. And I can tell you all take your sport seriously. You all look so very… vigorous." Phryne favoured him with a sweet smile. "But you know, there's one thing I was wondering about."

"Yes?" Randall cocked his head questioningly.

"Why did you try to kill me last night?" Phryne kept her voice down, but her tone was suddenly icy-cold, as she snapped out the words without warning.

"I… _What_?" Randall was looking dumb, in all honesty, his mouth gaping open, his eyes bulging slightly. "K-kill you?"

"Don't even try to deny it." She didn't leave him time to recover. "I recognized you straight away. Besides, you're walking with a noticeable limp today. I bet you still have the bruises I gave you, am I right?"

Against his will, his gaze wandered down to his shin. "But… That was _you_?" The moment the words left his lips, he realized what he had said. "Oh, damn, I-" He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "But what were you doing there? You-"

"That doesn't matter." Without hesitation, she yanked up his trouser leg to expose the bruises. "There. It was you. And you killed the others, too, didn't you?"

"I…" Randall was clearly too stunned to deny it. "I didn't mean to. You've got to believe me, I never meant to harm anyone."

"Oh, darling, of course I believe you." Taking his hand, Phryne changed tack again, modulating her voice to sound gentle and understanding. "But why? Why would you do such horrible things? The Randy I knew-"

He shivered, all over, and a single tear ran down his cheek. "She… She asked me to do it. To protect her. She promised that we'd be together, once it had all blown over."

"Who?" Phryne kept her voice as soft as she could. "Who asked you, Randy?"

"Mathilda." It was almost a whisper, but when she squeezed his hand, he raised his head and looked at her. "Mathilda Edgcombe," he repeated, loud and clear this time. He seemed to have forgotten that they weren't alone, or maybe he no longer cared.

From the corner of her eyes, Phryne could see Jack gesturing toward the door, and she knew Hugh had joined them and was writing it all down. She didn't bat an eyelash, though. She had to make sure Randall didn't stop talking.

"You love her." She didn't have to fake the compassionate tone, but at the same time she couldn't believe his stupidity.

"Yes. And she loves me, Phryne." Randy sobbed once. "She… She is so unhappy in her marriage. You wouldn't believe the way the old goat treats her. If it hadn't been for me-"

"So you were there for her. You comforted her. And then you fell in love." Phryne sighed. "Where did you meet for your trysts?"

"Here, at the club." Randy's laugh was bitter. "Down in the workshop. Edgcombe stays in his office until midnight on most evenings. Before he leaves, he takes a stroll over to the common room and pours himself a glass of whisky, regular as clockwork. All we had to do was listen for his footsteps. When we heard him, we'd get into my car and I'd take her home. He likes to take his time enjoying his drink, so we easily got there before him. It was foolproof."

"Until someone saw you." This time, Phryne had a harder time hiding her disapproval.

He nodded. "Sheila, the charwoman. One night, when we were… She saw us, and she cried out, so I knew we'd been discovered. I followed her out to the tram station, trying to reason with her. I begged her, Phryne." His voice broke. "I offered her money. But she refused. Claimed her 'conscience wouldn't allow her to let it go', went on about the sanctity of marriage and all that." He sounded genuinely bewildered. "So in the end, when her tram approached, I panicked and-"

"You pushed her." Phryne felt slightly nauseous.

"Yes." Randall continued, as if in a trance. "I pushed her. And when I told Mathilda, she…  She said we'd have to pretend it had been an accident. No one would suspect us."

"But someone did?" Phryne gently led him on, even though the whole sad story made her sick.

"Yes. Robbie MacPherson. He must have overheard us talking about Sheila, and then somehow he put two and two together. And then, one night, when no one else was here, he confronted me, told me what he had found out. This time it was worse, of course, not just adultery, but murder. I tried to deny it all, but he threatened to go to the police. Told me he would give me 24 hours to 'man up and confess' before he turned me in."

"But you didn't?" Again, it was hard for Phryne to remain calm. "Instead, you killed him, too."

"Yes." Randall seemed almost eager to spill the truth now. "He turned to leave, and he was standing at the top of the stairs, and so I shoved him."

"And the oil stain on the stairs?" Phryne frowned. "How did you-"

"Just a lucky coincidence." Randall laughed, but there was no trace of humour in it. "He almost caught himself in time, like you did last night, but then he slipped and stumbled and… He went down the stairs, Phryne, over the railing, and he _screamed_." He shuddered all over. "I heard him hit the ground, such an ugly, cracking noise, and then – nothing at all. But I had to check up on him, make sure he was really dead, and… Gods!" He fell silent.

The quiet scratching of Hugh's frantically scribbling pen was the only noise in the room.

"What about Speedy Sid? Did he find out about your affair, too?" Jack could clearly no longer keep quiet.

"What? No. I didn't harm a hair on the old man's head." Randall's surprise was clearly sincere. "He just died. Of a heart attack, I believe. He was nearly seventy, after all."

_Which explains why his death didn't fit the pattern_. Phryne nodded. "But still, Randy. I don't get it. Those were innocent people, and you-"

"I know." He closed his eyes. "And believe me, their screams still haunt me. But Mathilda… She promised everything would change soon. She was going to leave her husband, and we would go somewhere else, just the two of us. We only had to wait until people had forgotten about the accidents."  

Phryne shook her head. "Oh Randy. What were you thinking? She would never have run away with you. She used you. And you were a fool to allow it."

He didn't contradict her, just stood there, his arms hanging limply by his sides, looking immensely tired and a little lost.

"I'm sorry, Mr Bassington." Jack stepped up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But, I have to ask you to come to the police station with me. You're charged with the murders of Sheila Wendells and Robbie MacPherson."

"Charged with murder?" Randall frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

"Detective inspector Jack Robinson." With a moue of distaste, Jack removed his fake moustache. "I am sorry for this little charade, but it was necessary. Constable Collins, would you take Mr Bassington out to the car, please?"

He waited until Hugh and Randall had disappeared before turning to face Phryne again. "He may get off easy. If he can convince the jury that the murders weren't premeditated…"

"Maybe." Phryne felt her lips set in a thin line. " I am not really sure that is what I want. I have known Randy forever, but-"

She broke off. There was no need to elaborate. Like her, Jack had seen the pictures of the broken bodies, had seen the devastation left behind in Sheila Wendell's family. He knew what Randall had done, better than anyone.

"You know…" Jack was clearly aiming for a lighter tone. _Trying to cheer me up_. "There's one thing I don't understand yet. How did you know it was Randall Bassington, and not Theo, who attacked you? You said you couldn't see the attacker's face."

"I recognized the scent of his cologne on the collar of the workman's coat. It was noticeable even over the smell of the machine oil." Try as she might, Phryne didn't quite succeed in keeping the smugness of her voice. "Somehow I doubt Theo orders his toiletries from Paris."

"I see." Jack nodded, unimpressed. "You do realize that you took quite a gamble there." His face was stern. "If he hadn't confessed, we'd have put all our cards on the table to no avail."

Phryne nodded. "Yes. But I know Randy. And more importantly I know the type of man he is."

When Jack gave her a questioning look, she elaborated. "They put the woman they love on a pedestal, and when she inevitably turns out to be unworthy of their worship, they grow first maudlin, then bitter, and finally angry. Just wait, Jack. Put him behind bars for a week, and he will be so disillusioned that he will start talking. He will give you all the details you need, and he will try to incriminate Mathilda Edgcombe any way he can." She raised her chin, catching his gaze. "Please don't ever be like that, Jack. Promise?"

"Don't worry, Miss Fisher." The corners of his expressive mouth twitched. "While I do adore your many fine qualities, I'm also quite aware of your deficiencies."

_Oh, well parried_. Phryne didn't bother to hide her smile. "Well, then. I hope I shall see you later tonight."

"You most certainly will." He opened the door for her with a tiny bow. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

* * *

Jack took a good mouthful of whisky, savouring the peaty aroma. Real Scotch, of course. Only the best for Miss Fisher and her guests.

Phryne was sitting in the armchair opposite his own. She was wearing a comparatively demure burgundy silk nightgown, and she had pulled her legs up, tucking her feet in under its lacy hem. The room was illuminated only by a few candles and the flickering flames of the fireplace, and in the soft light, she looked young and vulnerable, despite the drink in her hand.

In those familiar surroundings, where they had spent so many evenings discussing cases and exchanging theories, Jack felt the tension slowly draw away from him. Earlier tonight, when he'd arrived at Phryne's house, he'd been buzzing with adrenaline, but right now, he had almost forgotten why he'd been so mad at her. _Almost. Not quite._

Phryne yawned, stretching gracefully, and his eyes were drawn to the soft movement of her breasts. She noticed, of course, and her smile widened. "So... Are you going to go through with the cycling race, now that the case is solved and your cover is blown?"

"I don't know." Turning his glass slowly in his fingers, Jack pretended to ponder her question. "I might. Who knows, maybe it'll do me good. Build up some muscle tone, improve my stamina. What do you think?"

Phryne licked her lips. "Hmmm. Improved stamina is never a bad thing. And I _did_ like you in those shorts."

"Did you, now?" The thought tickled him, more than he liked to admit. Catching her eyes, he deliberately stretched his legs. "Maybe I should make a habit of dropping in right after my training runs?"

"You mean, all sweaty and panting with the effort?" Phryne practically purred, and her gaze carried enough heat to make him swallow. "What a tempting picture. But no, I don't think so. When all's said and done, I think I like you better when you're cleaned up and well rested." She got to her feet and moved behind his chair, running her hand lightly along his shoulder. "I prefer to tire you out myself."

"Hmmm." He leaned into her touch. "I believe you underestimate the invigorating effect you have on me."

"Indeed?" Her hand slid down his chest, and her touch made him shiver. "You may have to explain it in greater detail."

"With pleasure." Twisting a little in his seat, he managed to catch her mouth with his.

Her lips were soft and sweet, and as always, Jack was enchanted by her reaction: that little noise she made, at the back of her throat, not quite a whimper; the way her whole body responded to his kiss, going soft and pliant against him; the tightening of her hand on the nape of his neck. She could drive him mad with nothing but a kiss, any time she wanted to, and she knew it, too.

When he let go of her lips, he found that she had somehow ended up in his lap, all soft and warm and lovely. There was no way of hiding his body's reaction to her at such close quarters, of course, and she hummed with pleasure when she felt him.

"Jack. Make love to me." Taking his hand, she placed it on her breast. "Please."

He nodded, hardly trusting his voice. "Let's go to bed."

But Phryne shook her head. "No. Here." Her eyes twinkled in sheer mischief. "The rug is quite comfortable, I believe."

Before he had time to protest, she was already sliding off his lap, pulling him down to the floor with him. And yes, the rug was soft and comfy, but…

"Phryne, you're mad." He was torn between laughter and annoyance. "Mr Butler-"

"Won't interrupt us this time, I promise. I gave him the night off." Already she was unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it over his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his chest hair. "I want you here," she whispered against his lips, tugging gently. "I need you, Jack."

Jack had heard enough. Pinning her hard to the floor, he kissed her again, and this time he made no effort to be gentle. And Phryne kissed him back just as fiercely, just as hungrily. But her lips weren't enough. Greedily, he tugged at her gown, pulling the neckline down so he could get his mouth on one rosy nipple, sucking it in with relish.

"Gods, Jack." Phryne sounded wrecked. "More."

He needed no further prompting. Already, his hands were on her thighs, pushing the gown up all the way to her waist. He swore under his breath when he realized she was completely naked underneath. Nothing between him and what he wanted most, and her skin was so soft, her flesh so firm under his hands! When he slid his fingers deep inside her wet heat, she cried out, clenching hard around them.

"Phryne!" He was panting so hard he had trouble speaking. "Oh God, yes!"

Her hands had found his cock, and it was heaven. Laughing softly, she stroked him once, through his pants, then quickly unzipped his fly so she could touch his bare skin. Instinctively, he curled his fingers, deep inside her, and she moaned without shame or restraint, rubbing herself against the heel of his hand.

Part of him wanted to go on teasing her, but he really couldn't wait much longer. Slowly withdrawing his hand, he got up on his knees, pushing his pants further down and out of the way. Phryne's eyes were fixed on him and she was breathing hard, looking almost feverish.

He was about to spread her legs and slide between them, when she shook her head. "No. Wait."

With one graceful move, she rolled over and got up on her knees, and the sight of her was so overwhelming he froze in place for a moment.

"Jack, please." She wiggled a little, so the slithery gown slid down over her shoulders, baring the perfect line of her back.

Jack groaned. He sincerely doubted there was any man alive who could have refused such an invitation. Carefully he positioned himself behind her, unable to resist the urge to slap her lightly. Phryne moaned appreciatively, soft and low, but the sounds she made quickly grew more urgent when he began to push inside her. And then he was there, with Phryne's warmth surrounding him, her gorgeous body laid out before him like a feast, and he stopped thinking, letting his need take over.

She moved in time with him, slow and careful at first, but quickly picking up speed and force until he was pounding hard inside her, harder than he'd ever dared, and yet she kept up with him, moaning, begging, urging him on. He lost all track of place and time as they raced towards their peak together, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in the same frantic rhythm.

When she cried out and grew taut, he gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight until she'd stopped shaking, and then followed her with just a few quick, sharp thrusts. His orgasm tore through him with such force that he almost collapsed on top of her, catching himself at the last moment.

Even so, he barely managed to pull back and let her down gently before he sank to the floor beside her, still trembling like a leaf.

Phryne gazed up at him from under her tousled mop of hair. "Goodness, Jack."

She looked happy and sated, and when he raised his arm in a mute invitation, she willingly snuggled up against him. He lay back, gazing up at the ceiling, listening to his own ragged breath. The room was warm and quiet, an oasis of calm in this crazy world, an island of peace in a sea of misery and violence.

For a few precious minutes, he lay there with her, relaxed and at peace, and simply, truly happy. But then his gaze fell on Phryne's hands, no longer bandaged, but still badly bruised, and his blissful mood began to crumble.

"Phryne." Gently taking hold of one hand, he breathed a soft kiss on her palm. "Damn it, why-" He didn't get any further.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Phryne bit her lip, looking charmingly contrite. "I promise I'll be more careful next time."

Jack nodded approvingly, but then he felt a sting of remorse. It wasn't fair to put all the blame on Phryne, when his own behaviour hadn't exactly been above reproach either. "When you flirted with Randall Bassington, I... I may have been a tad jealous. I shouldn't have assumed..." He broke off, blushing a little.

Phryne made a small, amused noise. "Clearly, we both have our little deficiencies."

"We most certainly do. But then again…" He tightened his hold on her, his heart beating faster with happiness. "That's what makes it interesting, don't you think?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and thanks to my awesome beta suilven.


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